Luyện nghe bài hát Light Pollution

John A. Hobson was a man
He used to me books and mic stands
He got me a subscription
To the Review

Listening to records in his
Old folk songs the government
love of money not the market
He these fuckers push on you

And freedom yells, it cry
Whatever sells will
But no hell when you die
So don't look so

He got a night life, his day job
Pushing papers, pendulums
to serve a function
Or to some time

You gotta earn this somehow
You're good as without a bank account
But it's how alive he has felt down
In that unemployment

With all trash at his feet
The pools of in the street
All of that filthy
For the way feeling

worry
Don't
Don't

The billboards
The flags wave
The playing loud
The baseball was letting out

And all at
You saw the and heard
Every tiny
Got in his and turned around

Drove out through the crowd and the
Drove out past that center
Drove out that sickening sprawl
Out past that fenced in

And maybe he lost
Fucking the radio
But I bet the stars seem so
At the end

At the end
At the end
At the end
...